


(we get on like a) house on fire

by language_escapes



Series: Chosen and Defined 'Verse [3]
Category: St Trinian's, St Trinian's (2007 2009)
Genre: Character of Color, Chromatic Character, F/F, Female Characters, Interracial Relationship, Lesbian Character of Color, Love, POV Character of Color, Post-Canon, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-13
Updated: 2010-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-13 16:01:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/139078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/language_escapes/pseuds/language_escapes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Between the constant bickering and setting the house on fire (literally), it's possible that they are <i>the worst girlfriends ever</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(we get on like a) house on fire

**Author's Note:**

> If you feel warnings should be added, let me know.

They keep a flat a few miles away from where they bring their kidnap victims.

It’s a practicality, really. Andrea grumps about the commute, but Taylor remains firm about it. You don’t sleep in your dirty laundry, or something. She’s not one for old adages, and she doesn’t keep them in her head, but Kelly said something about bathwater or laundry and not lying in it, and so Taylor borrowed some money and got them a dingy little flat, and Andrea heaped some bedclothes in the corner, and every night, no matter who they’ve kidnapped, they come back and curl up together, entwining their fingers together.

It’s quiet, and it’s perfect, and there is no way that it can last.

Polly funnels them money and they eventually buy a bed, and then furniture for their flat, which is nice because Taylor was rather fucking fed up with piles all over the place, and maybe Andrea is content with mess, but Taylor is not. Everyone expects a Chav to be a slob, but Taylor isn’t, she likes a bit of order in her life, she likes a desk, and thanks to Polly and their increasing kidnapping jobs, now she has one. A nice one, mahogany it is, and every morning she sits in front of it, even if she doesn’t have to, just because she has one and she didn’t before, and it’s nice, and it’s _hers_.

“Morning, Taylor,” Andrea says sleepily, brushing a kiss along the back of her neck, and Taylor grins. That’s something else that she didn’t have before that is nice and _hers_.

“You,” she says fondly, turning away from her desk, “look like a mangy werewolf.”

Andrea’s face lights up. “You always say the nicest things.”

Taylor reaches out and touches Andrea’s hair carefully. It’s a mess, knotted and tangled. It’ll take at least an hour to put right. “How do you manage to get your hair like this?” she wonders. Andrea smirks wickedly.

“ _I_ don’t. You do.”

They go about their morning routines every day, bickering viciously over the toothpastes and showers and milk and really, anything they can, because they may be together, but they’re still Taylor and Andrea, they’re still Chav and Emo, and some things don’t miraculously change. When Andrea storms out of the kitchen every morning, Taylor resigns herself to catching a cab, and knows that come nightfall, they’ll return home together, laughing and holding hands, and in the morning, they’ll do it all over again.

It’s unbearable, really.

For her birthday, Andrea gets her a textphone so she can call her parents, who are Deaf. Taylor nearly cries from the thoughtfulness of the gift and winds up locking herself in the bathroom for an hour so she can maintain her tough girl attitude. She winds up crying in front of their hostage instead, and they let the man go with a refund, which is just embarrassing. When they ride home that night, Taylor refuses to hold Andrea’s hand, and ruins her own birthday, because she’s dumb like that. She sleeps on the sofa.

The next morning, there is a post-it note on the bathroom mirror when Taylor goes in to brush her teeth. It says, “I made you birthday cake, you stupid twat.” She smiles, and goes to sit at her desk so she can make mockery of how Andrea looks and eat too sugary cake and pretend that it tastes delicious. Andrea is really an awful baker.

And it goes, and it goes, and it goes. Taylor gets angry when Andrea misplaces her brass knuckles and breaks Andrea’s favorite lamp, which makes Andrea cry, and they spend three hours sitting on opposite sides of the bathroom door yelling at each other and trying to convince the other to stop yelling long enough so that the other one can yell _better_. Taylor accidentally hits a hostage a little too hard and puts them in the hospital, and Andrea refuses to talk to her for a week, and Taylor goes to stay with Peaches until Andrea stops by and admits that yes, it was an accident, but if it ever happens again they’re done and over, because they _promised_. Andrea sets part of the flat on fire while boiling water, which shouldn’t even be possible, but there it is, and they stand outside clinging together, Taylor only in her dressing gown, and it’s the middle of the fucking winter and she isn’t wearing shoes and she wants to _kill_ Andrea because how the fucking hell do you set _water_ on fire? Taylor gets Andrea a cat, only to find out that Andrea is deathly allergic, and sits by Andrea’s hospital bed, feeling like the _worst girlfriend ever_ , if only Andrea weren’t the worst girlfriend ever, if only she weren’t the worst girlfriend ever, and really, they’re both such shite at this that maybe they should both just give it up.

Taylor is forever waiting for the other combat boot to drop.

But every morning she wakes up, and Andrea is tucked under her chin, drooling on her breasts, and it’s _disgusting_ , but it’s them. It’s them, and she’s so desperately in love with this woman that she doesn’t know what she would do if one day she woke up and she wasn’t there.

“Umph,” Andrea groans, and jerks her head, knocking Taylor’s jaw hard enough that she bites her tongue. “You’re thinking too loud. Stop it.”

Taylor savors the taste of blood in her mouth and draws back a bit so she can look at Andrea. Her eyes are barely open, her hair is a mess, her face has wrinkles from the pillow, and her makeup is smudged. She looks like a train wreck. Taylor grins.

“Lordy, girl. You look like a zombie with the way your skin is sagging about.”

Andrea’s face instantly lights up, and she kisses Taylor gently before rolling out of their bed, rubbing at her eyes.

“You always say the nicest things.”

Taylor can only smile.


End file.
